


Soft Hands, Plastic Face

by klaus_trophobic



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:50:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaus_trophobic/pseuds/klaus_trophobic
Summary: a small drabble on the relationship of Five n Dolores





	Soft Hands, Plastic Face

Small, soft hands touched the rim a shot glass, tipping the cup on its side a couple times, giving the alcoholic beverage contained inside the temptation of escape each time, only to pull back and trap the liquid from spilling out. This went on for awhile until a sigh came from the young male's body. His brows furrowed as his focused eyes moved over to the corner of the room, where a slightly worn and broken mannequin sat against the wall. His gaze was steady with the mannequin's fake eyes, neither of them blinking or backing off. Five eventually gave in, knowing he could never win in a contest of resilience with his love. He glanced back down at hi shot glass, having not noticed when the glass had been tipped over, alcohol covering the surface of the wooden end table.

Five blinked stupidly at the mess and turned back to Dolores, staring for a bit before snorting and folding his arms under each other as he leaned back into his chair. "I was planning to take the shot. And no, I don't have a drinking problem, as much as you would like to believe. How many times have you seen me get drunk again?" Five paused with a smirk on his face, but it soon turned into a scowl as what was assumed to be a retort from his love, Dolores. "Okay I must admit, that wasn't my proudest moment-- and don't even think about bringing up that one time--" Five was cut short, his mouth wide open as Dolores, most certainly, was bringing up *that one time.* Five threw up his hands and put them back down, settling into the chair, rolling his eyes. 

"It was justified," Five muttered under his breath, "and how come you always seem to remember my worst moments?" Five stood up, walking around his chair, going to a drawer, pulling out a random piece of clothing, and walked back to the end table, leaning down to clean the spill. He rubbed in circular motions in no rush, humming in acknowledgement a few times to what Dolores was saying. Five eventually absorbed all the sticky liquid, sat the cloth down, and put the glass face down on top of it, walking over to where Dolores sat, sitting on the sill next to her. "You know something, Dolores?" He paused a bit, looking down at his hands. 

His hands were so soft and childlike, so foreign. He was too used to the rugged feel of his old man hands, the rough texture against his face when he would wipe his brow. He smiled fondly, and shifted closer to Dolores, taking her hand into his. His thumb rubbed against her smooth, plastic, unchanging surface. "I'm sure you don't miss my rugged features from before, huh?" She obviously didn't have any verbal response, but he reacted as if she has said something humorous, soft, genuine laughter escaping from his too tight lips. He leaned against her, looking up at the ceiling, saying, "at least I'm easier on the eyes now, but you Dolores? You've always been beautiful. In that hellscape, you were a beacon." Five let silence fill the room as he closed his eyes and let time take its course for awhile, snagging what litter opportunities of sleep he could manage.


End file.
